Close Encounters: The Tale of a Ghost
by Vindicated Skies
Summary: Rayne Park never intended to die young just because an alien robot couldn't obey the speed limit, and he certainly never intended to spend his afterlife stuck among the living with no clue as to why. "Look at me sis, I can't even die properly." AU: Heavily Prime-based/G1 influenced


Here's the new reboot of Transformers: Eternity. As readers of the older versions may be able to tell, the story has changed drastically from what it was (really, they don't even seem like the same story anymore).

This story takes place in an AU universe of Transformers, though it is heavily based on Prime with strong influences from G1 and some elements from the movieverse. The first chapter is relatively short because I just want to test people's reactions to it first.

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_**Chapter One: As Still as the Dead**_

The night was quiet but for the patter of the rain against the pavement of the road, the _splosh_ of feet through puddles, and the quiet murmuring between paramedics and police as they moved about the corner of Fifth Street and Main, lit only by headlights, and the rhythmic, silent flashes of red and blue.

A crowd had gathered around the cordoned off section of the street, looking on with a mixture of horror, sadness, and morbid curiosity.

In the town of Tranquility—where nothing ever happened—tragedy had struck.

A lone young man—no older than seventeen and with black hair and blue eyes—stood amidst the emergency workers, and was seemingly ignored by each of them as they milled about the scene. Paramedics kneeled beside the frighteningly still form at the young man's feet, a black bag laid out beside it, and a stretcher was being unloaded from the nearest ambulance; behind him, an officer spoke into his radio, and bits and pieces of the words drifted over to the young man's ears.

"…_hit and run…dead on the scene…no witnesses…"_

The radio crackled out a distorted response, to which the officer responded by glancing at a wallet in his hand, and reading off the name on the driver's license.

"Rayne Joseph Park."

The name seemed to jerk the young man out of his numb stupor, and he stumbled backwards in panic, away from the mangled body that was still bleeding on the pavement, the blood being swirled away by the rain into a nearby storm drain. He whipped around to face the officer sitting in the cruiser, telling him desperately; "There's been a mistake."

The officer ignored him, and, at the request of the voice on the other end of the radio, repeated the name once more.

"Rayne Joseph Park."

Panic turned to rage.

"What part of _'there's been a mistake' _don't you GET?" He screamed, and fully expected the officer to look up and glare at him, and then snap at him to get the hell out of there and let him do his job.

But the officer didn't. It was as though he wasn't there at all.

Rage faded once more to panic and desperation, and the seventeen year-old sprinted back to the paramedics, whom were lifting the now-occupied black bag onto the stretcher. One, a young woman, was shaking her head sadly, and her voice was little more than a whisper when she spoke.

"Poor kid."

"Listen to me," he pleaded desperately with them as they wheeled the stretcher back towards the ambulance, "you've got everything wrong, this is a mistake…" his voice began to rise as it became clear that they were ignoring him too. Angry, he threw himself in the stretcher's path and pointed an accusing finger at the body bag, screaming as loud as he could; "THAT ISN'T _ME_!"

They passed right through him.

The young man froze in place, stunned, and inhaled a sharp, startled breath…

Only to realize he didn't actually need to breathe.

"No," he whispered, his arm dropping back to his side as he turned to stare stupidly in the direction of the body—_his_ body—as the ambulance doors slammed shut. _"No. _No, no, no, no, NO!" he screamed as the ambulance began to drive away, and the crowd proceeded to disperse.

"I'M NOT DEAD!" He shrieked after its quickly receding tail-lights. He ran through the lingering bystanders as though they were wisps of smoke, thinking only that he needed to stay with his body.

However, the young man slowed to a stop as soon as the vehicle turned a distant corner further down the street, and stared hopelessly after it as though silently begging the paramedics to realize they had forgotten him and turn around. The seventeen year-old, feeling weak in the knees, gracelessly sat down in the middle of the street and cradled his head, closing his eyes and fervently wishing that this was all just a really, really, _really_ bad dream.

"What happened?" a familiar voice asked directly over his head, and, thinking for a moment that it was addressing him, he looked sharply up and into the face of a seventeen year-old girl to whom he bore a strong resemblance, right down to the black hair and blue eyes.

It was his twin.

He felt his non-existent gut clench and churn with agony at the sight of her as he got back on his feet, felt the breath-he-didn't-need catch in his throat as the other person, some random, middle-age woman with a cigarette between two fingers, simply shrugged and puffed on it; "Dunno; some kid got hit by a car s'what I heard."

"Will he be all right?" the teen asked, and the woman shook her head.

"Nah, they said he was dead."

"I'm _not_…" Rayne croaked in a half-hearted response, but trailed off when he realized the futility of it; he turned to his sister and began rambling anxiously, as though hoping at least one word, any word, would reach her.

"Libs…Liberty. Look at me; I'm _not_ dead. Really, honest. I'm right _here_! I made you a promise—remember?—I promised you, you wouldn't be alone! And I never break a promise, you _know that!_" He hurried after her as she began to walk away, more than aware that he was descending into hysteria, and the descent only accelerated once he realised her destination was their foster parents' home.

"Hey, Liberty, you need to stop walking, okay? If you go home, there's gonna be police waiting there, and they're gonna tell you I'm dead, but I'm _not_. I mean, when you die, there's a light, right? Well, there wasn't a light, and Mom and Dad and James certainly aren't here so I must _not_ be dead, right? Right?"

Liberty Josephine Park kept walking, only to turn a corner and pause at the sight of a police cruiser parked in front of a small townhouse. Two officers were standing on the doorstep, talking to a man and a woman who stood in the doorway.

The man, her foster father, glanced her way with sympathy on his face, and said something to the officers. The uniformed men turned to look at her, and one began to walk towards her.

Liberty made no move to meet him halfway; she simply stood there, a look of trepidation on her face that told Rayne she was hoping the officer would be washed away by the rain before he could reach her.

But he did reach her, and came to a stop before her as the rain merely dribbled off the rim of his hat; "Liberty Park?"

"Yes," her reply was hesitant, as though she were wishing she was anyone else at that moment; she licked her lips and spoke haltingly before the man had the chance to say another word; "I just…passed the scene of an accident…two blocks ago," she informed him, her tone trembling slightly, "Was it…" she choked, unable to force the words out.

The man sighed, and Rayne stood helplessly off to the side, unable to stop what he knew was coming as he desperately insisted once more; "I'm not dead."

"Miss Park, I'm sorry to inform you that, less than twenty minutes ago, nine-one-one received a call saying that your brother had been hit by a speeding car. When paramedics arrived on the scene five minutes after the call, it was to find that your brother was barely breathing; one minute after their arrival, his heart stopped…"

The man's voice became a mere drone in the background as all sound seemed to become muffled, and Rayne watched his sister's face crumple moments before she did, dropping to her knees on the wet sidewalk. More than just rainwater was trailing down her cheeks.

Her wracking sobs were inaudible to him as he simply stood there, unable to comfort her like he wanted to; like he had when their brother James died, like James had when their parents died. He watched, feeling numb once more, as the officer knelt down and whispered sympathetic—ultimately meaningless—words, and pulled her gently to her feet, guiding her to the townhouse.

It was only when they disappeared inside that he realized, rather belatedly, that the rain—slowly growing heavier—was passing right through him. Somehow, it was that small fact, more than anything, which drove home the truth.

He was dead.

"But I don't want to be dead…" he whispered into the night, glancing around as though hoping there was someone there to hear him and contradict that simple fact; but not a soul, living or otherwise, was present except for himself.

Suddenly, the start of an engine reached his ears, and something red appeared in his peripheral vision. He whipped around to find a red car pulling away from the sidewalk on the opposite street behind him; its form was distinctly familiar somehow, especially the two horns that adorned its hood.

A violent conglomeration of image, sound, and sensation flashed through Rayne's mind at the sight of it.

_A flash of purple—pain—_

"_NO!"_

_Flying—numbness…laying on the concrete, watching as a red car with horns skidded to a halt in the intersection and the roar of a second engine grew distant as someone started yelling at him…_

"_Kid? Stay awake! Kid? KID!"_

_Darkness._

Rayne knew it was the same car he had seen just before dying, and rage coiled like a snake within him, hissing for retribution. It was this asshole's racing buddy's fault that his sister was crying her eyes out; that he couldn't keep the promise he had foolishly made to her at James' funeral.

As the car slowly drove away, Rayne made what—if he had been alive—could've been considered a stupid decision. He followed it, his only thought being that whoever killed him was going to wish they hadn't, because now he was going to _haunt_ their sorry ass.

Somehow, though, the newly-made ghost failed to realise that the car didn't have a driver.

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There's the first chapter, review and let me know what you think. I'll be deleting the old "Transformers: Eternity" and its companion "Close Encounters: A Teen's Guide to Surviving NBEs" when I post the second chapter.


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